


Packing Salt Rounds

by IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels



Series: A Gentle Release [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ? - Freeform, And a scene, Breaking up a scene into halves, Communication, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean is a glutton for punishment, Dick cambells, He just isnt aware of it, Hotels, Insecure Dean, Mentions of Lisa and Ben, Other, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam and dean talk about it, Sam belts dean, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam is mostly about practicality instead of deans well being, Self-Bondage, Soulless Sam Winchester, Subspace, Whipping, Whooping, he means well, non sexual kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels/pseuds/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels
Summary: Dean hasn't indulged in over a year. Sam gives him exactly what he needs, and they discuss his lack of feeling over it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a soulless Sam one. Tried a new writing style, constructive criticism and general feedback would bring joy to me.

Dean was felt like his skin was too tight, like he'd molt out of it, raw and just a lump of jumbled nerves. Sammy had been soulless since he got back, and before that, Dean had been with his family. He swore he'd fix Sam, and swore he wouldn't take advantage of his brother's state, either. 

The latter was easier, given Dean has principles. Even if need tried to wear them down like water to metal and rust them to pieces, Dean Winchester has morals. He took a deep breath and kept driving. 

Looking back, Dean knew how much he craved his brother's ability to give him what he needed, just never thought about it. Lisa could never think about hurting him. She could take charge in bed, or in general, but that was as close as she got. 

Dean couldn't count the times he'd fallen asleep with what Sam could do to him, for him, on his mind. The next morning Lisa would tell him about how he'd been crying and calling out in his sleep. She never said to who, but there wasn't ever a need, given he only really dreamed about one person when he did either of those things.

So Dean tried to fall back on what he did when Sam wasn't there. He powered through and eventually it went away, whether it was an hour, a few days, or once, nearly a month. It wasn't easy, and he'd always end up holding his tongue so he wouldn't snap at Lisa or Ben. Always walking off or driving around to just have something to do. 

But now Sam is here, riding shotgun like he should be. And it's probably the most difficult thing Dean has ever done to not pull over and ask for help. Ironic, given Sam just always knew when he needed it and he never could bring himself to ask then. Just obey when Sam gave him that tone of voice that reeked of "I'm gonna help, Dean." 

They're quiet as they drive to meet Samuel, but Sam spots a hotel in the distance.

"Pull over there." Sam said.

"What? Why? We gotta meet Samuel." Dean said.

"Do it." Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean scoffed but turned into the lot and parked. "Now what?"

"We pay for a room and I hurt you. What else did you expect?" Sam said, plain as day.

"Really not digging the foreplay since you got your soul snatched, huh?" Dean said.

Sam turned to him, and in his perpetual soulless bitch face said "You're showing the signs. All that energy but you haven't slept. Tapping on the wheel. You haven't focused on the road at all. You haven't focused on anything. You're mopey and pitiful at best as far as moods go."

Dean nearly didn't catch his jaw from falling open. Was it really that bad? He thought he was managing this pretty well. 

"I'll go pay for the room." Sam was already out of the car and half way to the door.

"Bitch." Dean huffed as he walked behind him. 

Sam scoffed. "Jerk." As he paid the exact amount for their usual room. 

He snatched the key and strode in to the designated room with Dean at his heels. Once they both had walked into the usual dismal setting of the hotel scene, Sam closed the door and waited. Dean walked to the first bed, a bit apprehensive. 

"How long?" Sam proposed.

"Since that beating Lucifer gave me wearing your meat suit." Dean sighed. 

"Then you'll need more than the usual." Sam started to roll up his sleeves, "Twenty sound good?"

Dean had to hold in the groan of relief at the sound of that. Instead, he bargained like the glutton he was. 

"Thirty."

"Twenty five. You'll count or keep your arms up, your choice." Sam said.

"Arms." Dean said after a moment.

He wasn't a man of many words, and even less so when he was indulging. He frowned at the memory of how badly he slurred and butchered his words after scenes, as Sam called them. 

"Fair enough." Sam said over the sharp sound of taking off his belt. 

Dean felt himself take a deep breath at it. They didn't do much of this, Dean only had gotten that wound up after a particularly bad hunt on top of not having been brought down before. As hunters a regular schedule was never even considered, even though Sam tried his hardest be be regular with Dean on this.

"Shirts." Sam called.

Dean had stripped out of his first layer and turned his back to Sam before he'd even finished the command. The next two came off practically immediately after. He cursed himself for being so eager, but what else was there when he'd gone so long without?

"So, a refresher course. Safeword?" Sam asked. 

"Poughkeepsie. Or red." Dean mumbled. 

"And if you can't?" 

"If my arms are up, two fingers out on my right hand." Dean felt himself slipping away already, he needed it now.

"Who calls an end to the scene?" Sam started to pace around Dean now.

"Either of us." Dean said immediately.

"Good. And why?" 

"Because. This isn't a one way thing, and we're both involved. You don't want to hurt me, and I don't want to make you think you went too far." Dean was straining to get the words out, he just can't think when it's this close.

Sam smirked. He could feel the need coming off his brother in waves. "And how often can I check in, ask for a color?" 

"As many times as you need to." Dean breathed.

"Arms up." 

Dean obeyed. Arms over his head and bent, making four sides of a pentagon, left hand on right wrist. He was tensed for the first strike, waiting. 

Sam was patient, and with his soul gone, even more so. It was nearly a full minute before Dean's muscles relaxed, and that was when he brought the first hit down, just below Dean's shoulder. He heard the sharp intake of breath as well as saw the full bodied tremble in response. He did it again, on the left. Then lower on each side, and finally on the top of his ass. He hit each spot methodically, taking his time.

Dean didn't keep quiet long. The tremors in his breath got more violent as he panted and sighed against the bite of the belt. The feeling is foreign and familiar at once and it nearly makes him weak in the knees. The twack of the belt soothes him like nothing else. He hadn't been counting but realizes suddenly he should have.

Sam stops at twelve. He looks smug as he calls "Poughkeepsie."

Dean frowned as he turned. "How many was that?" 

"Enough for now. We need to meet Samuel. We'll finish up later, after we get stuff done." Sam is practically amused.

Dean nods a bit as he puts his shirts back on, and immediately looks a bit uncomfortable. Sam doesn't hide his smirk. 

"Glad I stopped yet?" 

"Can it." Dean grumbled as he stomped out to the Impala.

Despite feeling a bit uncomfortable about having several shirts on, Dean felt lighter. Like the world was suddenly in color after being practically in black and white for a year. He sat in Baby again, mindful of his back as Sam slid in again too, belt in the loops of his jeans again. 

They drive off to the meet up, and of course Samuel is his usual Down to Business surly self. He's the only one to do any talking. The rest of the "family" is silent, hanging on his every word in rapt attention. Sam doesn't look convinced of the plan, and Dean can't think of anything else but the rest of the beating he's owed.

He also can't stop feeling the micro movements of his undershirt. They jerk his already waning attention to the skin underneath, itching for the final strikes. Dean knows Sam is watching him. He also knows he can't find it in himself to care that his little brother is smirking at him every time Samuel isn't looking. Does he actually like to hurt him now? Or maybe he's just rubbing it in that they're working and he still holds leverage?

The first thought irked Dean. Nagged at him. That wasn't Sammy, and as far as he's concerned, it never will be. It was difficult to accept what he was and that Sam doesn't at least benefit from what they do. But now, he understands suddenly he doesn't like the idea of his brother being a sadist. Dean purses his lips. He's over thinking.

Sam watches with interest as Dean works out a long train of thought. The emotions on his face are subtle, but to someone who's known Dean a lifetime, they scream out. He figures something is wrong with Sam, other than his soul, maybe. Or he thinks Sam won't make good on the other half of his session. Sam stares at Samuel as he tries to deduce the reasoning for this train of thought.

They weren't done with their scene. Though they had stopped adruptly. Maybe Dean was experiencing drop? Usually Sam gave what he thought was excellent aftercare, but this time they just up and went. He'll have to fix that. Though, he's a bit more sure Dean isn't dropping as he watches more. 

His older brother is fairly focused: hardly fidgeting, and doesn't seem to have any trouble keeping eye contact with Samuel or himself. That wasn't grounds for a drop. Good. 

After its over the boys find a new hotel and Dean is the one to beat Sam in the door. Sam smirks as Dean pays for the room. 

"Eager, much?" He hums as he strides to their room.

"Shut up." Dean barks as he jams the key into the lock and thrusts it open with a violent twist.

Sam just follows along, hands up in defense. "Fine."

Dean turns to Sam, serious as he relieves himself of his shirts. "Do you like hurting me now?" 

Sam pulls a face, half amused and almost insulted. "What makes you think that?"

"Answer the question, Sam." Dean frowned. 

"No. I don't like hurting you any more than I did before. I just don't feel much about it now. Before it was a means to keep you safe from your own head, and it felt important. Like I could take care of you for once and give you support you needed. Now it's just like cleaning a gun or packing salt rounds. You just need to do it."

Dean nodded, working his jaw as he turned around to face the wall. He tensed as he heard the sound of the belt sliding from belt loops. He took a breath and forced his body to relax. The first hit is diagonal, from his shoulder blade to probably a kidney. He's already too drunk again to tell.


End file.
